SNOB: A Dark College Enemies to Lovers Romance

Chapter 22

You did so good,Butterfly.

Such a good fucking girl.

His words play in my head as my brush flows across my canvas with ease. There’s no hesitation in my work today. No pauses. No second guessing. But while my brush stays on my canvas, my mind is elsewhere.

That really happened. I really let Malcolm McKinsley hit it.

My mind swings back to that night. In the helicopter. In his bed. I’ve never felt something so consuming. So dominating. So possessive.

Lethal.

It’s hard to ignore the way our bodies melt into each other, or how his aggressive approach matches my need to lose control. Our tortured insides come out in the worst way when we’re together.

Bitter bliss.

The way our pain leads to pleasure is stupefying. Shattering. Mind-blowing. The way he governs my body is something I’ve never felt before. In those moments, I don’t think. I don’t worry about Uncle Jake, Hannah, or Beau… and hell. Beau was right. The thing is, I don’t just like it. I crave it.

That’s not the only thing driving me.

I don’t fuck over my teammates.

Being Mac’s teammate means fifteen thousand dollars. I’m getting fifteen thousand dollars from the next few drawings I make.

Fifteen thousand!

It’s not much for these rich folks but for Uncle Jake and I, it’s life-changing.

A stupid smile sticks to my face as I pack up my supplies at the end of class. My mind explodes with hope for the future. I can be the next Riviera. The next Frida! I’m about to be a big deal.

Does my mom know that?

I haven’t figured out how to reach out to her. I thought about telling Uncle Jake but I’m afraid he’ll stop me. She has my work which is a good start. And with Mac’s connections, it should be easy to find my way back to her.

In the meantime, today is the day I sign my name on the mural in the gym. It’s about time Saint Bons knows the talent walking through our halls.

Checking my phone again, I wince at the text lingering on my screen.

Me: Reward me later?

I shot Mac a text of my progress so far. Still no reply, and a tightness comes to my throat when I look at the other unanswered texts.

Me: Give me inspiration in my room tonight?

Me: Are you mad at me?

The last one’s the kicker, a cringe on my face. I’m not much of a texter but not hearing from Mac after the other night makes me uneasy. I still feel him around. I still feel his presence, but the way he ignores me makes my stomach drop.

“Miss Everett.” A familiar voice comes from across the quad when I step outside. “You look refreshed.”

Turning around, Gray approaches me looking ten times worse than he did the other night. “What the hell happened to you?” He sports a black eye as casually as the beige blazer thrown over his white collared shirt. Along with a couple of butterfly bandages above his right eye, he looks like he walked out of an octagon.

He acts as if everything’s fine, an arm wrapping around me. “Just another day in the life of a Crown,” he says, confidence still dripping off his tone. “Speaking of Saint Bons royalty, you lied to me.” He doesn’t look angry when I glance at him, but I’m still confused. “You said you and Mac weren’t a thing.”

“Wait, did Mac do this?”

“Hey Gray, hey Ember.” My head whips to a student I don’t recognize, waving at me. Did they just say my name? Did they just acknowledge me? No shade. No whispers. It’s like I’ve crossed over into some other dimension.

My attention turns back to Gray. “Well, is it?”

Gray shrugs. “Mac has a funny way of showing passion.”

My pace slows.

“Mac’s dangerous.”

Greta’s voice fills my head. He doesn’t feel dangerous when he’s between my legs. Or holding me. Or sleeping together in his bed. But Gray’s face tells me different and if Mac did this to his best friend, a fellow Crown…

“He’s a loyal guy.” Gray must feel my hesitation. “But knowing Mac is like knowing a tiger. You never know when he’ll strike. You going to the rink?”

“Uh, yeah,” I reply, his words clinging to my brain as a knot forms in my stomach.

“Get the fuck out the way!” Gray’s shout startles me out of my thoughts as students in our path part like a curtain in front of us. “A Crown and a Crownette coming through!” He winks at me, those charming eyes dazzling as we move through the quad.

When we get to the rink, Gray opens the door, letting me through first. “I’m here if you need me, gorgeous,” he says, moving towards the locker rooms. Is it me or is he laying it on thick today?

Moving through the lobby and into the arena, the warmth that fills me looking at my finished mural offsets the cold from the ice. Reaching to grab my supplies from my tote, my eyes narrow on something new in the corner. My feet slow, my grip on my brush tightening.

This can’t be real.

The doors to the arena open again, and my eyes swing to it.

Mac walks in with his father, both in fitted suits. Dark circles sit under Mac’s eyes, more hair flopping over his face than usual. Dean Patel follows in a burgundy suit of her own with beige heels to match.

Seeing his dad brings that night whipping to my head. The way he paced the store like he owned it. The way he threatened my uncle, giving us no choice. The brush snaps in my hand.

“Tell you what,” Sterling McKinsley says, cold eyes wandering around the space. His hand lands on his son’s shoulder. “If Mac can get the funds, we will invest in redesigning the rink.”

“McKinsley Arena has a ring to it,” Mac says. “You can count on me.”

“After you did such a beautiful job on the mural, we know that we can,” Dean Patel says. “We’re proud of you, Malcolm.”

My teeth push so tight against each other it makes my head hurt.

“Thank you,” Mac accepts the credit, without even a mention of my name. He glances at me, spotting me before he turns his attention back to our dean. “Hopefully my injury will recover and I can get back to working on the team.”

“One thing at a time son,” Sterling says. “Don’t lose focus.”

Gray’s words ring in my head. So do Greta’s as my broken paintbrush drops to the ground. Marching towards him, my Oxfords stomp across the rink floor as the room turns red.

Mac glances at me before turning his dad towards the doors. “Let’s discuss this in your office.”

Not a chance. “Did you seriously put your name on my art?” I’m not even in front of him before I start. “You didn’t even help.” Circling around the trio, I stand in front of the doors, forcing him to acknowledge me.

“We’re busy,” Mac says, looking down at me. “If you have a problem you can take it up with someone else.” If my mouth wasn’t so tight, my jaw would be on the floor.

I ignore the way his dad looks at me, Dean Patel taking a step back as if she wants nothing to do with this. “What happened to being a team, Mac?”

“Did I stutter? I said, we’re busy.”

“You don’t deserve your name on that.”

He turns to his father, leading him towards the doors. “Shall we?”

This fucker.

Heat swells my insides as I reach into my bag, pulling out a can of spray paint. Turning around, I walk through the doors back to the lobby before bumping into something solid. Mac’s chest.

“Don’t. You. Dare,” he says, glaring down at me again.

“Or what?” I ask, the heat of our bodies together so hot it could melt the ice. “Gonna do me like you did Gray?”

“Maybe.”

“No! Wait, please!”

A familiar voice rings loud from the other side of the doors, our heads whipping to it. But I’m way too heated to let that distract me. My attention moves back to Mac, my eyes boring into his skull. I’m ready to stand up for myself when someone passes by.

“Greta Fukushima is in handcuffs!” I can only see the back of a jersey before the person disappears out to the quad.

Wait. “What?”

“You think she did it?” Gray’s voice comes next as he rushes towards the doors.

With furrowed brows, I follow. “Did what?” When I get out to the quad, a crowd fills the space as two cops escort Greta down the stone path. The same ones who interrogated me.

My body stills, my throat closing in.

Greta’s plaid dress and knee-high socks make her look way too innocent for this. That’s because she is.

“What the hell happened?” I ask Gray. A crowd lines up on each side of the path as the officers lead Greta toward the parking lot.

Gray leans in. “Turns out, Beau might be dead.” My breath hitches in my throat, his words making my stomach spin. That queasiness comes roaring back for the first time in a while and I do my best to keep myself standing. “And Greta might have something to do with it.”

Her eyes land on me and heat drains from my face despite the sun beating down on us. “Wh-what?” Is all I can muster as Greta stares at me like she knows. Like she’s silently pleading for me to say something.

“They found his car at the bottom of Avalon Lake,” Gray continues. “They also found Greta’s earring or something.”

My eyes widen, remembering the scrunchie she lent me. I can’t let this happen to her. I can’t let her go down for this.

When I take a step forward, something stops me, a firm grip on my arm. “Let it happen.” Mac’s voice comes to my ear and I hate the wave of warmth that washes over me.

“Mac, she’s getting arrested!”

“We have to let her go,” he says, his words rolling through me. “She’s collateral damage.” Gray’s words in my head, I can’t help but wonder when I’ll be collateral too. I try to move towards Greta but his grip tightens, turning my body to his. “You step out there and there’s no coming back from it, Everett. I won’t help you.”

But I try again. This isn’t her fault. Mac stops me with a tug on my arm. He pulls me away from the crowd, his grip tight on my skin. Glancing back, Greta disappears as my Oxfords stumble over each other.

“As for you? We need to talk,” Mac growls.

Other students are too busy gawking at Greta to notice Mac dragging me back to the rink. His grip sinks into my arm so tight it burns.

“Get the hell off me, Mac.” I try to tug away but he picks me up instead, making me powerless. Like before, I”m no match when he throws me over his shoulder, my hair falling over my head. This time, I know better than to fight. It’s no use. He’s too strong. So I just lay over his shoulder like a rag doll.

Once through the lobby, he climbs a set of stairs before we’re in a room I’ve never seen before. It’s compact, the walls decorated with hockey memorabilia and framed photos of SBU players. Mac included.

Mac sits me in a chair beside a wooden desk with buttons, dials and mics. A window next to it overlooks the rink below.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask as Mac runs a long black rope around me, pinning me to the chair. The tightness of his knots offset the soft fabric of the rope against my skin. “Mac, Let me go.” I’m not down with his antics today.

“I want to be sure we’re still on the same team.” His hands land on each arm of the chair, his iron eyes narrowing into mine. “Approaching me in front of my father? Have you lost it?” He moves behind the chair, tightening the rope so that it burns against my arms. “You do want my head on a platter, don’t you?”

“Have I lost it? Coming from the psychopath tying me to a fucking chair.” He kicks my legs open before something slaps against that spot. A sting runs through me like a firebolt. He tilts my head back, a finger under my chin. That’s when I notice what’s in his hand.

He grips a long leather handle intricately braided. Leather strips hang off the end. Where the hell does he get this stuff?

“Three things,” he says, twirling that whip or whatever in his hand, the strands going round and round. “I want you to repeat them. Understand?” When I don’t answer he flicks his wrist and those leather strips land against my folds. Tingles spread through me despite my shorts being on. “Understand?” He whips that thing again, this time it lands against my hardening nipples, a hiss escaping me.

Why do I respond to his weirdness in this way? Why does it set me on fire?

“Answer me,” he growls, letting that thing fly again. One against my folds. The other against my tits.

The room gets hotter with each whip. Enough to make me stammer, “Y-yes.”

“Good,” he says, keeping my chin tilted towards him. “You will never approach me when I’m with my father.”

Fuck that. “If my mural didn’t have your name on it, I wouldn’t.”

He sends that thing flying again. It slaps against my bare thighs, making me want to clench them, but he keeps them open with his knee. Despite the sting, it feels good… really good. I’m supposed to be mad at him, not enjoying this. Why am I so fucked up? Why does he fuck me up?

“That’s nothing compared to what you’ll get with your work, Butterfly. Think. Bigger. Two.” Pinching my nipple through my shirt, his lips hover over me. “I unlocked Beau’s phone and I have the video. Do you still think we’re a team?” He twists, that tool in his hand tickling my other. My thighs clench together before he moves that tool between my legs, keeping them spread. He presses the hard end against my clit, finding it through the fabric of my clothes. “I need an answer, Everett.”

“What did you do to Gray?” I fight the feeling building in me before he pulls away. Rounding in front of me, he pulls my shorts and panties down, those iron eyes on me.

And I fucking let him.

I gasp when he slides the end of that tool between my slit, the cold leather a contrast to my warmth. He brings the handle to his lips, licking my wetness off the end.

Fuck…

“I ask the questions, not you.” He kicks my legs wider and when he lets those strands slap me again, this time, they land against my clit. A sigh escapes me when he does it again, pleasure and pain combining in the best ways. Just like him. He keeps going, each slap making me lift my hips off the chair as much as I can with the rope tightening against my skin. When he stops, my heavy breaths fill the room.

“Do you still think we’re a team?” he asks. Firm. I know the answer he wants and I know what I want too.

“Yes.” The words leave me with ease, my body tingling with anticipation.

“Yes, what?” He brings his face close to mine before his fingers slide between my slit.

My mouth falls open when he uses my slickness to rub against my clit, a blaze firing through me. “Yes, Mac.”

“Hm, I’m going to need more than that.” He stops moving his fingers and he knows what he’s doing. He’s making me crave him.

And I can’t hide it. “We’re a team.”

“And?”

“And I won’t approach you with your father.”

Three fingers slap against my clit, my head falling back against the chair. “Good girl.” The feeling intensifies, my knees closing around his hand but he keeps them open. “There’s a third.” Something enters me, rigid and textured. Is that the handle? It slides in easily, and I can’t help but think about the way he fills me as my body embraces it.

“Fuck, Mac…” I murmur as he thrusts into me. He’s gentle for all of a second before he thrusts harder. A perfect rhythm. “Anything.” And I’m scared I mean it.

“You’ll be at Paradise Botanicals tomorrow night, understand?” The sound of his voice makes me tighten around the handle he fucks me with, my body trembling as the room starts to peel away. Then he stops, leaving me gasping. “Understand?”

“Why?” My voice sounds like I’m panting for more. “Why?”

“Do you understand?” He leans closer, teasing me when his lips brush against mine, thrusting just enough that I respond.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Pulling the handle out, he takes a step back, dropping his pants to reveal his hardened rod. “Ready for your reward?”